


Life To Fix

by morpheusdreamt



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Angst and Humor, Bad Parenting, Developing Friendships, F/F, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Handsome Jack & Timothy Lawrence are Twins, Hopeful Ending, Hugo Vasquez Being an Asshole, Jack lets Angel cuss in this, M/M, POV Alternating, Poor Life Choices, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morpheusdreamt/pseuds/morpheusdreamt
Summary: After her mother's sudden death, Angel is sent to live with her alcoholic father—a man she's never really gotten to know, and now isn't so sure she ever wants to.Rhys is desperate for a job.  Any job. He ends up at Prosperity Junction, a definite downgrade from his previous role at Opportunity Wine Market and Bar.  His co-workers—including the awkward but well-intentioned security guard—make up for it, as do the colorful regulars.Angel's world, on the edge of crumbling, soon collides with Rhys's, leaving Jack as the only person with the opportunity to help them both—if he doesn't destroy himself first.
Relationships: Angel & Handsome Jack (Borderlands), Angel/Gaige (Borderlands), Timothy Lawrence/Rhys
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fanfic ever, and I’m really excited to share this. Its been a long time in the making, and I’m glad I was finally (lovingly) pushed by my Actual Waifu (tm) to do this.  
> However please heed the tags, this isn’t exactly a happy story, tho it does have a hopeful ending.

Meg is mousy, small, and not important to Angel, who takes in the gloomy weather as they make their way to the plain house before them. Angel nods as the social worker rambles on about things she needs to check at Jack’s home, about the interview that’s going to take place, but Angel isn’t truly listening. Instead, she takes in the way Jack’s house looks from the outside. She notes the sparse furniture on the porch and the peeling yellow paint along the siding.

When a terrible accident claimed her mother, it’d been suggested Angel move in with her estranged father. Stricken by grief she’d agreed, but now, after months of preparation, including the dizzying back-and-forth regarding custody between him and her maternal grandparents, Angel feels cast aside—and more unsure of any other decision she’d made in her life.

The two stop outside the front door, and a gentle hand on her shoulder snaps Angel from her observations. Meg looks at her sympathetically, and Angel struggles to not cringe from the touch. She doesn’t want pity.

“You can wait outside, if you want,” Meg says, removing her hand from Angel’s shoulder to adjust her glasses. Angel looks down at her own hands, chewing on the inside of her lip before nodding once.

Meg nods in affirmation and waves Angel away. Angel walks to the other side of the front porch, standing out of view from the front door and windows. She hears Meg pull open the screen door before knocking. Whoever is inside approaches the front door and opens it. Meg introduces herself, with what Angel imagines to be a stiff smile and a handshake. She strains to listen, but can’t make out what is said in return before Meg walks in, and can only hear door close behind her.

Angel’s stomach is in knots as she leans against the house, squeezing at the straps of her backpack. Quietly, she makes her way back to the front of the porch. She scuffs her feet at the splintered wood beneath her feet, before kneeling and sliding off her pack. There's a couple of notebooks and a handheld game inside, but she pushes it all away to get to a small pocket. Unzipping it, she pulls out a worn photograph, which she took from her mother’s belongings before the move.

It’s a simple enough photo: her, her mother, and her father, all posed and smiling towards the camera, the backdrop a sand-dusted boardwalk. The sun must’ve been bright that day, with the hat her mother was wearing and how her father shielded his eyes. They all looked happy, and it only makes Angel frown. She tries to discern her father’s image in the old picture, and takes note of the tattoo on his wrist. His smile is bright, but that’s all she can see for the shadow over his face. She wonders if the man in this photo is the same man she’ll be meeting today.

Angel sighs, carefully putting the picture back into her bag and shrugging it on. She sits in one of the ratty chairs on the porch, leaning back to press her ear against the glass to try and listen in; she can't see inside, with the curtains obscuring her view. The sound she _does_ hear is muffled. Voices. Meg’s, high and encouraging as she lists off the resources available to what is now a family of two. Angel strains to figure out what her father says in response.

She doesn’t struggle for long. The screen door pushes open and Angel jolts in her seat as she scrambles to look inconspicuous. Her heart hammers in her throat: this is it. She's finally going to meet her dad. Again.

Meg steps over the threshold, a clipboard of (presumably signed) papers clasped against her chest. “We will be coming back in a couple of weeks to check in, and again a few months after. If there are any questions or concerns, both you and your daughter have the number to our offices. As I said before, I am incredibly sorry for your loss, Mr. Torrance.”

“It’s Lawrence, not Torrance, but please, call me Jack.”

Angel fights to keep her stomach in check, eyes wide and unblinking as her father finally steps out of the house.

She looks up at this man, taking in his slightly disheveled appearance. His hair is more-or-less styled back, but barely so, grey coloring his temples and speckling the stubble along his jaw. A scar runs in a sharp arc across his face. She notes, with a bit of shock, that they have the same bi-colored eyes, and the realization makes her squeeze at her bag's straps once more. He’s almost a stranger to her, but also her father. Something—some _one_ —she doesn’t know how to feel about.

She remains still as Jack approaches slowly, Meg’s watchful eyes over them. Jack smiles for a moment, but the grin slips as quickly as it came. Replacing it is something more somber. More haunted.

“Jesus Christ, you look just like her,” Jack says softly. Angel's gaze drops to her shoes, lest she burst into tears right then and there. Jack wraps his arms around her, squeezing her tightly. “Hey kiddo, long time no see.” His voice is thick with emotion.

Angel carefully hugs him back, responding with a hoarse, “Hi.”

The interaction seems to be enough to appease Meg. She takes a step off the porch steps, saying something about leaving to give them time to adjust. Angel and Jack watch her go, Jack saying something about taking care of Angel and keeping her safe.

Angel and Jack are beside themselves for a moment after Meg drives off. Then, Jack invites Angel inside.

Angel takes a moment to absorb the living room when she walks in. The room is modestly furnished, opening into a small kitchen that doubles as the dining area. A hallway spokes out to the left, leading to what she presumes to be the bathroom and their bedrooms. Old photos and posters decorate the walls. Angel pays them no mind as she watches her father walk past and head to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling something out, before snapping it shut. He leans against the counter and takes a drink from the brown bottle in his hands.

For a moment he considers her. Then he goes to the couch, dumping himself onto one of the cushions and flipping the dusty TV on.

Angel's brow furrows slightly at this. She can’t seem to figure him out. Slowly, she puts her backpack on the ground beside the door and shuffles out of her shoes. The whole time, she watches him.

“Um... What are you doing...?” she asks.

Jack shrugs noncommittally, drinking from his bottle as he flicks through channels.

“Aren’t you gonna, y’know...” Angel shrugs. “Show me around or something?” A twinge of a headache comes on at the whiplash she feels from meeting him not moments ago to seeing his behavior now. It's almost like betrayal.

“'S not much to show, kiddo,” he hums, not bothering to turn around.

Angel bites her lip, hands balling into fists. She’ll give herself a tour, unreadable father be damned.

She walks stiffly into the kitchen, making note of the two chairs at the small table. Exploring the cupboards yields minimal results, dust-covered canned food and old boxes of cereal mixed in with chipped dishes. She opens the fridge and her incredulity mounts at the lack of food inside, the door shelf and vegetable crispers filled with cans and bottles of beer.

She shuts the fridge door harder than intended, the cans and bottles clicking inside, and stomps off in annoyance to explore their living spaces. The door on the left of the small hallway is her own room, something she looks in with relief, taking note of her own sparse furnishings and personal belongings before stepping out.

The first door on the right leads to the bathroom. Angel notes the absence of feminine products and the mess in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, along with the shelves behind the door.

The second door in the hall leads to what could only be Jack’s room, but she doesn’t have a chance to approach the door before it swings open.

Angel jumps back, eyes wide. Her short scream reaches the living room as a scantily-clad woman shuffles out of Jack’s room with a yawn. The woman brushes past Angel, whos keeps herself flush against the wall—as far away as possible.

“Sup,” the woman quips, stretching for a long moment before heading into the bathroom with another yawn, door thudding shut behind her. Angel watches, incredulous, then all but stomps back to the living room.

“Um, who the hell is that?” she whispers frantically, nearly hysterical in her shock.

“Huh?” Jack looks back from his seat on the couch, towards the hallway, as the shower starts. “Oh.” He turns back. “That’s just Nisha—”

“Who the fuck is _Nisha?_ ” Angel hisses. “Why don’t _I_ know about Nisha? And why is she naked in this house!?”

Angel’s confusion and frustration grows when Jack smirks, taking a sip from the beer bottle.

“Pump the breaks there, kiddo,” Jack chuckles, looking pointedly up at Angel. “She’s not anyone you need to concern yourself with.”

Angel grits her teeth, hands clenching into fists. “I guess I’m not someone you need to concern yourself with either, then,” she says in a rush, shoulders trembling.

She turns away, not bothering to wait for a response, eyes stinging.

Feeling almost at her wit's end, Angel hurries to her room and locks the door behind her. She wonders what she’s really gotten herself into in deciding to stay with Jack—this man she can't believe is anyone's father, but somehow, is hers.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, how does it feel to be freed from your corporate shackles?”

Rhys attempts to not snort out the gulp he'd just taken from his mimosa.

“Oh, yeah, it’s just great, Yvette. Especially when my friends decide I should foot the bill on their increasingly expensive lunches.” He stabs at his pasta. “Totally not like I’m struggling to make rent or anything.” He glares into his drink. “Nope.”

“Oh. Wow. _Jeez_ , dude,” Vaughn mumbles around bites of sandwich. “Did I order this BLT with extra guilt? Because I distinctly remember not ordering that this time around. Should I flag a waiter down?” He looks around the bustling restaurant.

Yvette scoffs, flicking a lock of hair out of her face. “Rhys is just _exaggerating_ , such a drama queen.” Lifting her drink to her lips, she adds around the rim of it, “But... you _are_ going to cover us this time, though. Right?”

Rhys groans, pressing his hands into his eyes. “I mean, I guess? But you guys are totally taking advantage of my generosity here.”

“Heyy, c’mon dude.” Smiling, Vaughn reaches across the booth to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “At least you don’t have to work around Ass-quez anymore! Right? That must be pretty liberating!”

Rhys nods with a bit of a shrug, looking up when Yvette sighs.

“I don’t know what I saw in him, you guys.” She sips her margarita.

“Maybe it was the money? His hair is also really nice.” Vaughn takes another bite of his sandwich, eyes narrowing as he swallows. “Almost too nice..”

“And the cars. He’s also _super_ buff. Like, did I ever show you this workout routine he used to do? It was--”

Rhys takes this as his cue to loudly clear his throat, banging a fist on the table for good measure. “Umm, I thought we were here to comfort me through this completely unfortunate time in my life, not talk about how supposedly amazing my _shitty former-boss is._ ”

His friends look up at him apologetically, and Rhys hides a smirk behind his palm. Vaughn reassures him that no workout routine will get between their friendship.

It's with no small amount of joy – or anger – that they find themselves drinking midday, mid-week, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Namely, Rhys losing his job.

He’d clocked in as usual the day before, dressed his best and ready to take on the day. Henderson had been hinting at putting in a good word for him to higher-ups for the District Manager position at the liquor store chain he’d been working at for years, and with Henderson’s retirement approaching, it only served Rhys best to begin dressing the part.

 _Oh but how wrong I was_ , Rhys laments, frowning down at the ice cubes in his boozy orange juice.

It’d only served him right for jumping the gun when, instead of going to greet Henderson the day of his retirement, he was met with Hugo Vasquez making a show of moving his belongings into the now- emptied office. And when Vasquez hinted at demoting Rhys for supposed insubordination, well, it really warmed Rhys’s heart at the shock on Vasquez’s face when he quit on the spot with a nice “fuck you.”

Now, Rhys is both mourning the loss of his job and celebrating the minor victory over his former work rival to his friends, basking in their comments and support.

“Hey, I mean, maybe it’s for the best,” Vaughn says, then thanks the waitress as she comes over to refill their drinks. “There’s always something better right around the corner. There’s even that mom an’ pop shop on the same block as my place. You could always apply there? We can even grab lunch together!” He's practically beaming.

“Yeah, you mean _I_ can grab lunch for us together,” Rhys grumbles.

“Quit moping.” Yvette swats at him, stealing a bite of pasta Rhys has been ignoring. “Besides, you’d be a shoo-in at this place anyway. It's a liquor store with a revolving door of employees. You’ll fit right in.”

Rhys grimaces, running his hands through his hair. “That’s... reassuring.”

“She’s right, though,” Vaughn adds. “You’d be perfect at this place. Besides, I know someone who works there, I can put in a good word for you?”

“Oooh, yes, I just love rubbing elbows and networking. So much fun,” Rhys groans, regarding his best friends through his fingers as he rubs at his face. Already, he's beginning to dread the long application process that's soon to be before him. “It’s honestly kind of a downgrade, but I guess I can give it a shot – I mean, but I'd only apply there if I’m desperate.”

* * *

Rhys is desperate.

Slouching back, feet tucked into the couch by his laptop, he tries not to let the past week’s mounting frustration get to him. After all the frantic applications, even going so far as to apply for overnight work at the frogurt shop inside a local bookstore, Rhys is edging closer to burnout and exhaustion from the lack of replies and automated emails informing him ‘ _thank you for your application, but the position has been filled by an internal applicant. We wish you the best in all your endeavors!_ ’

 _Yeah right_ , Rhys huffs, stress-eating his way through a bag of snacks Vaughn thought he’d hidden well in his apartment. He continues to watch the job search engine scroll on his palm display.

Eyes roaming listlessly at the cluttered, application-covered coffee table, Rhys once again contemplates the business card tossed there at the beginning of his week-long search. He can make out Vaughn’s slapdash scrawl across the back.

Sure, he’s grateful his bro is kind enough to let him leech off his wifi for the job search, but Rhys misses spending time at his own apartment. The approaching rent due date looms ominously in the back of his mind, worry creeping through him.

He blinks, shaking his head and focusing again on the unassuming card before reaching over with a wrung-out sigh.

He spares a glance at Vaughn’s note on the back (“you’ll love this place bro!”) and grabs his phone from where it's wedged between sofa cushions. Punching in the phone number listed on the other side of the card, he mutters to himself, “Gotta pay the bills somehow, can’t be too picky at this point.”

Rhys brings the phone to his ear, listening to it ring – and _click_ as someone picks up. The cacophony of noises and sounds immediately assaulting his ear causes him to nearly fling it across the room.

“Prosperity Junction liq store, what do you want?” A man bites into the receiver upon answering.

“Uh... H-Hey, I’m calling about a job application.” Rhys pulls at the sleeve of his shirt, picking at a stray thread. “Just wondering if you were still hiring?”

“Depends,” the other man shouts over the noise on the other line, voice rising. “Do you wanna work here?”

Rhys’s brow bows, confusing setting in. “Uh... yeah? I mean, _yes_?” 

“Alright, lemme check.”

Rhys pulls the phone away from his ear, looking down at it incredulously as he listens to the yelling man shout, “Hey Ma, are we still hiring?”

He can barely make out a response, if there is any, between the din of other people talking nearby and the distortion-filled, riff-heavy music coming through his phone. Straining to listen in, Rhys jumps when the yelling man returns to the call, cutting through the noise.

“How soon can you start?”

Rhys blinks. “ _Huh_?”

“Can you come in _tonight_? We need a shift covered after a newbie tried to dip with stolen goods.”

“ _What_?”

“Look can you do this, or nah?”

Rhys looks between the stacks of applications on the coffee table and his discarded laptop on the other end of the couch.“Uh.. sure, yeah. Yeah I can come in. What's a good time?”

“Can you do four to ten? That's closing.”

“Yeah, yeah I can do that.” Rhys tries to not trip over his feet as he struggles to sit up, the digital display on his echo eye helpfully informing him it’s currently 3:34 PM.

“Alright, super.” Yelling man huffs. “See you soon then, uh...”

“Rhys.”

“Right, right. See you soon, Reese.”

The call cuts out. Rhys tries processing the conversation that just occurred as he rushes to get dressed and out of Vaughn’s apartment in time to catch the next bus.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I appreciate any feedback <3  
> Music has been a huge inspiration for this story, so I will be updating a playlist of songs for each chapter with each update. If anyone is interested, a link to the playlist is [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5A74a1cDDA1JBVc4YtSj1r?si=PGWuJa-CSCyRnmDf3i-lTQ&nd=1)


End file.
